Whispers of Hope
by Fay93
Summary: There just might be hope for Elizabeth March, when she is taken along on Amy’s trip to Europe. A ‘romance for Beth’ fic – improbable, but we all love the notion. ;oP R&R.
1. Glad Tidings

**Synopsis:** There just might be hope for Elizabeth March, when she is taken along on Amy's trip to Europe. A 'romance for Beth' fic – improbable, but we all love the notion. ;o) R&R.

**Disclaimer:** etc., etc.. Keep in mind that there are some direct quotes, and L.M.A. wrote them.

* * *

**Whispers of Hope**

**I**

**_"Glad Tidings"_**

* * *

"You'd better do it, Mary. I'll supply the money," said Aunt March.

To which Aunt Carrol replied, "I will, if her parents don't object. Do you think Amy will like it?"

"Of course," Aunt March said sharply. Aunt Carrol returned indignantly, "You know how fond she is of her parents. Homesickness has a way of ruining a vacation."

Aunt March stirred her tea thoughtfully.

* * *

A week later a letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March's face was illuminated to such a degree when she read it that Jo and Beth, who were with her, demanded what the glad tidings were.

"Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants – "

"Me to go with her!" burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in an uncontrollable rapture. Beth stayed her, attempting to calm her, for she saw something in Mother's gaze that told her it was not quite as Jo thought.

And so it wasn't.

"No, dear," said Mrs. March gently. "Not you; Amy and Beth."

Jo was stunned silent. "Amy – and Beth?" she said, at the same time as Beth enunciated an incredulous, "Me?"

"Yes, hear what Aunt Carrol has to say: 'I planned at first to ask Jo, but as "favors burden her" and she "hates French", I think I won't venture to invite her. Amy and Beth are by far more docile, will make good companions for Flo, and receive gratefully any help the trip may give them. Although initially I did not think I could manage enough for two, I am sure Amy will be much more at ease with a sister, as to make her less homesick. I mean to make her as comfortable as I'm able; Josephine and I never do any deed if not thoroughly.'"

"Me?" said Beth again, as if in a daze.

"Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can't I learn to keep it quiet?" groaned Jo. Beth immediately went to her side and embraced her, basket and all.

"Oh, how I wish I could give up my place for you to go, dear Jo! I shan't enjoy it as much as you; I know I'd prefer to stay home. Can't it be arranged, Marmee?" Beth pleaded with her eyes, which looked unequivocally scared.

"I'm afraid it can't, Beth. Aunt Carrol invites both you and Amy, decidedly," said Mrs. March.

"It isn't fair! Oh, it isn't fair! Here is Amy, who always has all the fun, and Beth, who doesn't even want to go, receiving an invitation, while I who has set my heart upon going end up getting left out. It isn't fair, I always get the work, and others the pleasure," said Jo fiercely, winking hard.

"Oh, Jo, don't – don't!" cried Beth. "You know I want you to go as much as you do."

"I, too, wish you could have gone, but there is no hope for it this time, so try to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden your sisters' pleasure by reproaches or regrets – at least Amy's," Mrs. March said gently.

"I'll try," said Jo, more subdued. "Will you promise to write me of all that you see, Bethy?"

"I will!" declared Beth, kissing her sister's cheek.

* * *

That night as she lay in bed, her left cheek resting gently on her pillow as she looked at Amy's serene, happy face, she thought of all that she was to leave at home for some strange unknown world, and she felt a tremor run through her. One of trepidation, anxiety, and a very real fear – but also one of an odd excitement, such as one she had never felt before. No, this was alien to her; the prospect of adventure, new experiences, new explorations... and perhaps romance. But Beth shook that idea out of her head as quickly as it had come – where _had_ it come from? She was not romantic, never had been.

And how could she have been? She was nothing but stupid little Beth, trotting about at home, of no use anywhere but there. But here was this new emotion stirring in her heart, and 'little Miss Tranquility' was frankly terrified by it.

Beth fancied that it was reflected in Amy's feelings as well, for her younger sister had expressed, upon hearing the news, a sort of elation which now touched Beth. Dear Amy! How glad she must be – but however far she might fly from home, she never will forget it. She was like a happy lark trying to get up among the clouds, but always dropping down into its nest again. Dear little girl! So ambitious, yet her heart was good and tender. Beth promised to herself that she would stick by her pretty young sister through thick and thin, however little guidance she _could _offer.

Her thoughts then turned to Jo; dear, funny, mischievous, harum-scarum Jo. How could she bear to leave her? She would miss her so much; but at least on this horrid trip across the ocean she would have Amy, while Jo would be left all alone – except for Laurie. With that thought, another startling idea crept into Beth's mind, sprouted wings, and took flight. Beth shook her head again to clear it. The thought of travelling was getting to her head.

Beth let her eyes lift to the quaint window in the room, through which moonlight flooded in – beautiful tonight, in a wispy, ephemeral sort of beauty. It was particularly bright that night. Under ordinary circumstances she would have thought it shone benevolently; but tonight the light was only eerie and whimsical, and bespoke of change.

She reached out a thin hand to brush aside a fluttering curl from her sister's forehead, and then suddenly stilled, her gaze caught by the almost ghostly transparency of her flesh, epitomized in the pale moonlight. She brought her hand back, close to her heart, and a quiet tear rolled down her cheek.

"Dear God," she murmured in a soft prayer. "Let me not go through the Valley of the Shadow in a foreign land; let me breathe my last where I drew my first."


	2. So Long

**Disclaimer:** etc., etc..

Sorry for the delay; as a warning, this is sort of an off-again, on-again thing, but I do think I'll finish it sometime! And thank you to those who offered me their thoughts last chapter. I treasure every word!

Fay

* * *

**Whispers of Hope**

**II**

"_**So Long"**_

* * *

The next day found Beth quietly packing for the unexpected voyage, while Amy went about in a solemn sort of rapture; sorting her colours and pencils, she left such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of art than herself.

"It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively, as she scraped her best palette. "It will decide my career, for if I have any genius, I shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove it."

"Suppose you haven't?" said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the new collars which were to be handed over to Amy.

"Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living," replied the aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure; but she made a wry face at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on vigorous measures before she gave up her hopes.

"I'm sure it shan't come to that, no one who has seen your drawings can say that you don't have great talent," Beth said stoutly. Amy smiled tolerantly, as if to intimate that she said so only because the drawings were _hers_, and sisterly affection demanded such a proclamation; but Amy was comforted nonetheless.

"And even if it does 'come to that', you could never be so destitute, for you hate hard work, and will probably marry some rich man and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days," said Jo.

"Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't believe that one will. I'm sure I wish it would, for if I can't be an artist myself, I should like to be able to help those who are," said Amy, looking as if the part of Lady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor drawing teacher.

"Hum!" said Jo, with a sigh. "If you wish it you'll have it, for your wishes are always granted – mine never."

"Would you like to go?" Amy asked, thoughtfully patting her nose with her knife.

"Rather!"

"Poor Jo," said Beth, sympathetically stroking her sister's head. "Perhaps you might still have them granted yet, and when your adventure comes, be sure to send me delightful accounts of it."

"I will, Bethy," murmured Jo, but she was not very convinced.

"Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig in the Forum for relics, and carry out all the plans we've made so many times," Amy said.

"Thank you. I'll remind you of your promise when that joyful day comes, if it ever does," returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent offer as gratefully as she could.

There was not much time for preparation, and the house was in a ferment 'til Amy and Beth were off. Jo bore up very well 'til the last flutter of blue ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried 'til she couldn't cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly 'til the steamer sailed; then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her and those who loved her best.

Beth cried with her; a wave of homesickness had crashed over her as soon as she saw her mother and sisters starting to blur into only miniscule figures. She wondered if she would ever see them again; so many things could happen when she was half-a-world away from home. _So many things..._ Beth's fingers trembled as she brought her handkerchief to her eyes, and she clutched her sister's hand a little tighter.

Amy glanced up at Beth through her lashes, and was struck by the very real look of fear on her sister's face. Beth loved her as unconditionally as she did all their sisters; however, their natures were discrepant enough to inhibit their ever becoming confidantes. But Beth had never been anything but kind and self-sacrificing to her younger sister. Amy's whimpers quieted a little, for she knew they could only upset Beth further; an insight borne of an uncommon burst of selflessness.

Beth perceived the change, but was too miserable to wonder at it; she leaned her head against the window, her tears spent, and closed her eyes. Perhaps, if she slept, it would all pass with the speed of a dream's ephemeral timeline...

Soon, all too soon, they arrived at the dock, where the liner was sprawled with imposing grace. Beth shrank back a little, and watched with her heart full as Amy clung to Father and Laurie, the last to linger, saying with a sob,

"Oh, if anything should happen—"

"Don't fret, if anything happens, I'll come and comfort you," whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon to keep his word.

Aunt Carrol called to them then to hurry, as the boat would be leaving soon.

"You had better go, my child," said Mr. March gravely. To Beth, the words seemed the embodiment of everything dreadful, and a few more tears fell fast from her eyes. With one last hug for her father, and a whispered "so long", she turned to her sister and took her hand.

"Come, Amy," Beth said softly, gently drawing her away. She addressed Laurie herself, and said in low tones, "Tell them at home that I'll watch over Amy – tell them that I'll miss them, and always love them. And – take care of Jo for me, please, but – but don't – " she faltered there, not knowing what to say, and only looked pleadingly at the confused face before her, willing him to understand.

His brow furrowed, Laurie answered, "I will."

"Thank you," said Beth in a subdued tone.

So Beth sailed away, with Amy's head lying tearfully on her shoulder, to the Old World. New and beautiful to young eyes, and so very far from home. Beth laid her wet cheek against her sister's head, thinking that Europe, however grand or splendid, never could seem very lovely without those she loved best.


	3. A New, Old World

**Disclaimer:** etc., etc..

* * *

**Whispers of Hope**

**III**

"_**A New, Old World"**_

* * *

The journey was all that was thrilling to Amy, and painful to Beth.

She was appalled to find herself exceedingly ill so long as she was on deck; and she, along with her aunt and cousin, were obliged to stay within the confines of their room. Consequently, Amy often strolled along the decks by herself, hastening below to relate everything to her sister every couple of hours. Beth, likewise, looked forward to these constant visits, for if she could not be perfectly happy herself, it was equally as well to see her sister so.

Pretty soon, although it did not seem that way to Beth, they arrived in Halifax – and from that point on it was relatively smooth sailing. Beth supposed that she had gotten used to the movement of the vessel, and was not so bothered by it anymore. She was gratified to find herself able to walk along the railings with Amy now, although she could never go on for more than ten minutes at a time without needing to sit down.

There was something pleasant about sea air, Beth decided. It was a particularly fine day; the sun shone and the waters sparkled; and the fresh, pleasant wind brought a healthy colour to her cheeks. She made an agreeable picture, there on the boat, with one slender hand on the railing, her head uncovered, and her eyes bright and content. It was a picturesque prospect – and Beth was quite unaware that Amy's critical eye and skilful hand was at that moment committing the same image to paper.

Later, when Amy presented the finished piece to her, Beth would trail her fingers wistfully over the portrait, wishing that the bloom in the girl's face could last there forever.

* * *

Beth drew her legs under her and leaned against the curtain. She always kept them halfway open, so that enough light shone through as to prevent the room from seeming dark and glum, but not so much that her eyes hurt from the excess. Nearly a week of staying in the hotel had accustomed her to every nuance of the room she shared with Amy.

"Beth, Beth, you will never guess—" gasped Amy breathlessly, barrelling through the hotel room door.

Beth glanced at her younger sister in surprise. Amy, who had taken to being a prim young lady of late, was rather prone to more dignified entrances than this. "You look flushed, Amy," she said in concern, making her sit down in a chair.

Amy smiled. "Well, I suppose that must be imputed to my running all this way. But what news I've got! Won't you ask me what it is?"

Beth obliged, and Amy continued.

"Aunt, Flo, and I were having a charming luncheon in the bistro – how I wish you weren't too tired to join us, Beth – when who should we see coming through the door but Laurie's especial friends – Fred and Frank Vaughn!"

Beth only looked questioningly.

"Don't you remember? You made friends with Frank, I know, that day on the picnic," prodded Amy.

"Oh! Yes. Yes, I did. I remember that Fred frightened me, a little, and teased ever so much. I don't think Jo liked him," said Beth.

"_Jo_ wouldn't," Amy said cryptically. "Isn't it so coincidental, however, that we should meet them here? Fred has gotten to be very nice."

"Nice?"

"Oh! Handsome, gallant, everything that is charming..." Amy smiled.

"I should like to meet any friends of Laurie's," said Beth truthfully. "And I hope Frank's leg is better."

"Yes, much better – he only limps a very little, now. I think"—Amy looked slyly—"I think you shall like him very much."

* * *

They ran into Fred the very next day. The girls were wandering by the shops; Beth wondered at the coincidence and rather suspected Flo and Amy to have purposely dawdled at a specific place – by Fred's recommendation, perhaps.

"Ah! Good day, Miss Flo, Miss Amy – how do you do?" Fred tipped his hat and smiled at them all. "And who is this?"

"Beth, my sister," Amy told him.

"Little Beth! I think I begin to remember – but you are not so little anymore, are you?" Fred said to her, though his smile was directed at Amy.

Beth was a little embarrassed by his patronizing tone, but nonetheless said politely, "Good afternoon, Mr—" her mind went mortifyingly blank. She looked desperately at Amy, who mouthed something that seemed like 'fawn'.

_I certainly shall not,_ thought Beth. Trying again, she finally said, "Good morning, sir."

Fred's mouth twitched, as though he knew exactly what was going on, and Beth didn't particularly care for that – but he said, "You may call me Fred, of course. My brother Frank _Vaughn_ is not with me. Which is a pity, for he would have liked to see you again, Miss March."

Beth reddened and mumbled, "Thank you."

"Why don't we walk this way?" said Flo, taking his arm. She looked up at him through her lashes.

They walked down the street, Amy and Beth behind Flo and Fred, who pointed out sights and acquaintances to his fair companion. Flo giggled and simpered with remarkable enthusiasm.

"See how dreadfully she clings to his arm, Beth," Amy whispered to her. "I quite detest it when Flo turns all flirtatious!"

"There is no harm in it, surely," said Beth, wondering at Flo's courage in being so forward. "So many girls do it so often." She glanced, fleetingly, at Amy, and then hoped she hadn't seen.

But Amy had. Her back straightened a little, and she said firmly, "I never was _that_ bad." Then she whispered, uncertainly, "Was I?"

"I'm sorry," said poor Beth, honest to a fault.

Amy furrowed her brow and appeared to be in deep thought. "You know, Beth," she said finally. "I think I shall be more careful, in future. I don't like the thought of people ever thinking me a coquette."

Beth's eyes widened, and she stumbled. Fred was at her side in a moment, holding her up and asking if she was all right. Beth could only nod – and blush and blush again.

Fred, satisfied, let go of her arm, and grasping the opportunity, dodged Flo and offered Amy his arm. Amy took it, a little subdued, but she could still smile and be her most alluring self.

Flo fell into step next to Beth, who rather wondered if Fred had been waiting for her misstep, just for this exchange of partners. She glanced at her sullen companion, who every now and then shot her a dark glance. No doubt she thought the whole thing was orchestrated by the sisters.

Beth wished the ground would swallow her up and then deposit her back in front of the hotel. She ought never to have ventured from it in the first place.


	4. Frankly Perplexing

**Disclaimer:** etc., etc.

It's been a while, but I hope you'll enjoy this nevertheless! Assuming I still have readers, that is. ;o)

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,

~Fay

* * *

**Whispers of Hope**

**IV**

_**"Frankly Perplexing"**_

* * *

"I hope you shall finally see Frank today, Beth," Amy said at breakfast the next day.

Beth stifled an uncharacteristic feeling of exasperation, and only nodded affably at her, taking up a cinnamon bun. Amy's conversation had virtually been restricted to three topics: Fred, Frank, and then some more Fred for good measure.

"Amy, really, you needn't talk of it ceaselessly," said Flo sourly, shooting a look at Beth that said something along the lines of _'he's mine'_. Beth stared back, alarmed. She had thought her cousin was giving Fred the preference; that much was plain yesterday. Evidently, two in the bush was better than one in somebody else's cage.

Uncle Carrol lowered the newspaper to glance at his daughter. "Have some milk, Flo."

Aunt fretted. "It looks like rain."

"On the contrary, my dear, it looks like a surprisingly fine day – as fine as days in London have any right to be," remarked Uncle. "Just the thing for a walk in Hyde Park, and I believe the Vaughns will meet us there."

"They will!" cried Flo and Amy simultaneously, dropping their bread along with their mouths.

"I _told_ you, Beth—"

"And _I_ knew all along," claimed Flo, as her mother said, "How very like your father to tell us only now!"

"Will you be up for a walk today, Beth?" asked Uncle gently. He had taken to Beth of late, her quiet nature appealing to him after the exuberance of the other girls. Beth raised her eyes gratefully for this little piece of considerateness; before she could speak, however, Amy flew up to say, in a superfluity of italics,

"Oh, _Uncle_, Beth _must_ come – I _couldn't bear_ otherwise!"

"You do have quite the flair for the dramatic, Amy dearest," commented Aunt, believing it to be just the thing to say to young ladies of this impressionable age. "Beth, my sweet, wouldn't you rather stay at home? I am sure it will rain, and bad weather always gives you a headache, doesn't it? Besides, I have been meaning to beg your assistance in touching up Flo's new bonnet – you have _such_ a way with the needle, dearie."

"You _will_ come, won't you, Beth?" Amy pleaded, ignoring Aunt Carrol, and Flo added, though reluctantly, "Please do."

"Well, I—" Beth stifled a sigh at Amy's beseeching eyes, and agreed.

Uncle nodded and with a placid "As long as you feel well enough, my dear," went back to his paper.

* * *

They had been walking about aimlessly for half an hour, and Uncle Carrol had already suggested going elsewhere twice, but both times Amy and Flo had argued against the idea forcefully. Beth privately wished they had never met the Vaughns, and then chastised herself for being so selfish when she caught the look of eager anticipation on her sister's face. Really, the Vaughns had been nothing but perfectly charming and polite – up until now, anyway, in view of their tardiness – and couldn't she at least be generous enough to put up with a little boredom for Amy's sake?

With this thought in mind, Beth suggested in her quiet way, "Perhaps we should wait a little longer, Uncle. They might come soon."

Uncle Carrol softened and agreed, for a request from his elder niece was so rarely voiced that he was hard pressed not to comply.

Amy shot her a grateful look, and almost immediately after Aunt Carrol said, "See, girls, here they come!" Flo squealed and then quickly composed herself. By the time Fred and Frank Vaughn had approached their party, both she and Amy were the very pictures of demureness and placidity.

The greetings were quickly dispensed with, and soon the party broke up into pairs: Fred almost immediately offered Amy his arm, and Flo just as promptly latched herself onto Frank. Beth, feeling slightly _de trop_, hung back to walk with her uncle and aunt.

To be honest, Beth felt more relieved than left out with the arrangements. She watched Flo and Amy banter with the boys up ahead, and marvelled at their bravery (she would _not_ call it audacity). Retreating slightly behind Aunt Carrol's skirts, she hoped to avoid any notice and that the walk would end soon.

It was not to be, however. Amy, remembering her sister, soon turned her head and said, "Oh, Beth, do run up, do! Frank was just talking about music, and I'm sure you'd like to hear it."

"Yes, come join us, Beth, if you're so very interested," added Flo with a tinge of sarcasm.

Beth bit her lip and was about to shake her head, but Uncle winked at her, Aunt gave her a nudge, and Frank turned and smiled reassuringly. Not wishing to appear proud or rude, Beth stepped forward and walked beside Flo. She hadn't seen Frank in a while – he was virtually a stranger – and she was therefore slightly afraid; besides, walking beside her cousin would appease Flo somewhat, Beth was sure.

"Frank was only telling me about the concerts," began Flo.

"It wasn't anything very interesting – I remember you played the piano, Beth?" Frank said kindly.

"Yes," she really couldn't think of anything else. He must think her terribly dull. Amy at that moment shot her a pointed look over her shoulder, and so Beth inwardly sighed and searched for something to say. "Is – is your leg any better, Mr. Vaughn?"

"You know you can call me Frank," he smiled. "We were friends at the picnic, do you remember? And yes, it is better, as you see. Thank you."

"What picnic?" asked Flo.

"Camp Laurence," Beth replied, a little surprised at herself. "It was very long ago, I think."

Frank shook his head, "Not so long that one can easily forget it. By the by, Beth, how are you?" And there was genuine concern in his eyes then, for Beth was certainly not the plump, rosy little girl he remembered. Thinner, and pale with not sickliness exactly, but something far from health.

"I'm fine," Beth faltered. She lifted her eyes gratefully. "Thank you."

Beth really could not bring herself to say anything further than that, and listened absent-mindedly to Flo's chatter for the rest of the walk.

* * *

Dear Jo,

I miss you very, very much. Everything is exciting and new, but not enough to make me stop missing home. We are in London now, and will stay a little while longer, I think. We've went to Hyde Park, Westminster Abbey (it was nice, Amy says "sublime"), and shopping in Regent Street at Aunt's insistence. Amy got some nice new things, they're very pretty – and after, I found out that she got me things too. I don't need half of them, but she's such a generous girl; I think we're too hard on her half the time.

We're getting on nicely, and Amy says it's especially because we met Fred and Frank Vaughn. You know, Laurie's English friends, who came to Camp Laurence long ago when we were little. They've gotten to be very charming, everyone thinks so, and Frank's leg is a lot better. He's very different, I think. He was sad at the picnic, and I hardly knew what to say to him; that's all changed now. His moods, that is – I still hardly know what to say to him, or his brother. But they're nice boys, and Amy is having such fun because of them! They're very hospitable – and before I forget, Fred sends his "respectful compliments to the big hat", Jo.

Despite being awfully homesick, and wishing you were here too, I can't help having fun all the same. Happiness is catching; and Amy is _so_ happy, the dear girl. So I'm very grateful to our aunts for letting me come. Perhaps I'll feel better, by and by. It's only times like this, when Amy is asleep in our hotel room, and it's dark outside, that I think – perhaps Marmee is come home, and Father reading, or Meg playing with the dear babies – and then – oh – I _miss_ you!

From,

Your little Beth.


End file.
